


Words like vines

by Prince_of_Leaves



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 10:49:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12505720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prince_of_Leaves/pseuds/Prince_of_Leaves
Summary: - Buy the pretty journal-Meet Livia and Juliet for lunch-Tell Montague that he left his leather jacket at the bookshop again (I'm never giving it back to him. How many does he have anyway?)Rosaline makes lists about everything. Benvolio Montague starts getting featured in them.





	1. Chapter 1

What to do today:

  


\- Get coffee grains (for the designer coffee machine Benvolio Montague made me buy. I told him regular coffee was perfectly acceptable but of course, he refused to listen. He said ‘acceptable’ was only a word for someone who did not know any better. I bought it to spite him and I will never tell him it was worth it). 

\- Give Livia a long lecture about the evils of relationships. Be calm about it, so that she thinks its friendly advice. Insist that she leave Paris, or else. (Write a list on what to explain to her). 

\- Get Juliet to hear the lecture too. (I heard her mention Romeo and rings in the same sentence). 

\- Set the alarm for seven am. (I doubt it will work. I am going to wake up at four am till I die a peaceful death under an oak tree at 75 years old. Or a Montague murders me).

\- Take the cat to the vet. (Yell at Juliet that it’s her cat.)

\- Find my muse. (It seems to have gone abseiling and then fallen off some jagged cliff, crashed into smithereens, never to return. I’ve been waiting weeks).

\- Unpack books. (It’s not going to matter, anyway. I’m not going to read any of them again. The moths can be entertained although I’m sure they’ll leave the first editions alone).

\- Forget Escalus




  


Rosaline began making lists after the accident. It would divide the day into sections, so that life became surmountable instead of faded hours where nothing made sense. She was supposed to stop once her life had settled and she still isn’t sure it has, so the lists have stayed. Livia says it’s becoming a problem. Rosaline thinks it’s a fairly harmless one.

‘It’s because you don’t live in the now,’ Livia said, ‘do you ever do anything spontaneous?’

‘You’re spontaneous enough for the both of us,’ she’d replied. It was true though. She couldn’t recall doing much lately without thinking about it first. The last time she’d tried being impulsive, it had spiraled. It’s been three months since and it is still troubling.

‘Add it to your list,’ Livia insisted, ‘maybe then you’ll start changing.’ 

She has a list of her problems. She’d started the latest one on the wall, beneath the ceiling. She’d climbed on a desk and written with a black marker.

\- Leave Verona (forever?) 


She’s visited a few pretty places on holiday and hasn’t actually decided on moving anywhere. Truth is that she rather likes Verona. It’s just that she doesn’t like the people in it. Well, not all of them anyway. The list of those who have earned her ire is hidden behind the door, just in case someone finds it and makes her an accessory to their crimes. 

-House Montague  
\- Benvolio (especially)  
\- Aunt and Uncle  
\- Juliet’s cat  
\- Livia’ s boyfriends (It seems like no one will ever be good enough. At least, no one I’ll ever think is worthy of her).  
\- Escalus (I can’t believe he’s on this list. My heart should be held liable for its decision to like someone who is completely unattainable, if only I’d just thought about it. You see Livia? This is what happens to people who are spontaneous). 


While she decides where to go and when, she works in the most divine bookshop. Its three stories high, with an elaborate staircase that is lined with literature and is so full of books, that it seems not one more can fit in it. Yet, it seems to embrace all the wanderers that drift in, who are looking for more than a store and rather somewhere to dream. It smells of coffee and hope and Rosaline adores it.

The bookshop is a few streets away from her home, or actually, her parents’ home, where she now lives. It certainly needs care and while she saves up for that, she lets the roof leak into a red bucket and the lights flicker, and doesn’t care that the heating is mostly broken. It’s all much better than having to move back to her Uncle’s manor and suffering the insults of her miserable Aunt. She couldn’t bear to be there without Livia.

She’s only opened up her own room. The memories are lavishly brilliant and the walls seemed to be coated in them. At first, it was tormenting to be alive when the all others were missing but after a while it became almost safe, as if it had been waiting all these years for her to return. 

‘It’s looking really nice,’ Livia says, even though Rosaline can tell that she’s lying. It’s habitable but it doesn’t exactly have much character to it. She hasn’t unpacked any of her books and she doesn’t even want to think about the boxes of journals. It’s all stacked up in the corner and the room is big enough for her to ignore it.

‘It’s not like anyone besides you and Juliet ever comes here,’ she shrugs, ‘so I’ll live the way I choose. I’m going minimalist aesthetic.’

‘More like a morgue,’ Livia mutters, ‘your lists seem to be a feature at least, even though it looks really weird.’ She’s writing lists on the walls and letters creep across the white paint, like vines. 

Livia lives in a penthouse. No wonder she finds the room so unappealing. It still bothers Rosaline. It doesn’t matter where people live. It’s what they do that matters.

‘How’s Paris?’ she asks, narrowing her eyes at her sister, ‘there’s a reason he has five bodyguards. He must be a criminal to need that much security. It’s all so suspicious.’

‘Paris is fine,’ Livia replies airily, ‘and I can get you the number of one of the bodyguards. He’s six foot four and once squashed a man with his thumb. You’ve been really angry lately, maybe you’ll get on.’

‘I am not angry at all,’ she snaps ‘and I will never trust a man ever again and neither should you.’ It seems her intention to calmly warn Livia hasn’t quite worked out but nevertheless, decides to read the list to her anyway. 

Reasons to stay single:

\- Men say that they love you  
\- Then they leave you  
\- They go without saying goodbye  
\- They don’t ask if you can come with. (You can’t but it would be nice if they’d offered)  
\- They are always disappointing  
\- They are all liars  
\- They always want things they should not ask for  
\- They are not loyal  
\- They will leave you for girls with castles  
\- They like taking over countries  
\- They say they’re committed but then they obviously aren’t  
\- They will make you cry even though you’re not the most emotional person  
\- They will definitely kill you. The murder will occur in surprising ways. 


‘Rosaline?’ Livia nudges her, looking concerned ‘Prince Escalus wanted to marry you?’

‘Escalus?’ she raises her eyebrows, as if she wasn’t thinking about him. They were serious. At least, she was sure they were. He knew how hard it was for her to trust anybody, because she’d been betrayed in the past and yet, he didn’t care. ‘This isn’t about him. I’m trying to tell you to be careful.’

Livia doesn’t seem to have gotten the message at all.

‘If you were engaged, you might have gotten your inheritance,’ she says, referring to the ancient Capulet laws where a girl would not receive her shares until she was married. Her uncle still abides by them, even though Rosaline is pretty sure that he does it to be cruel and is possibly profiting from it somehow. 

She hadn’t planned to marry Escalus for that reason. It wasn’t like they were going to get married any time soon either. They had spoken about it because they’d known each other for years and they loved each other. She’d thought that they were together, at the least. It seems he wasn’t committed at all. 

‘Actually,’ she says crossly, quite forgetting that this is about Livia and being a good and law abiding citizen ‘why don’t we make a list on how to make a guy pay for being so entirely awful?’

‘You already have one,’ answers Livia, who seems to have read some of them.

It’s titled ‘Revenge’ and it’s in red marker in infuriated scribbles. She’s sure she was crying.

\- Tell everyone that Escalus is lying about his lineage. He’s not royalty but the son of a secret affair and thus cannot inherit the throne. 

\- Kill him and say a Montague did it. (Maybe Benvolio) (And then help Benvolio get away)

\- Take all of his money and splurge it on beach parties on all the best beaches in the world and invite everyone besides him. (Escalus was legendary for those. I’ll make sure mine’s are better).

\- Tell all the princesses that he’s the worst boyfriend ever. That it would be better if they’d marry a Montague than Prince Escalus.

\- Marry someone else and watch him suffer (He will be jealous? He has to be.)

\- Catch him while he’s asleep and give him a tattoo that says ‘abdicated’ surrounded with roses and skulls and also pierce his eyebrows. 

\- Break his nose.

\- Push him into a fountain. At lunch time. When all the tourists are milling around so they’ll take photos of the Prince of Verona drowning in a fountain and the world will laugh at him. 




‘You’d be tried for treason,’ Livia blinks at her, ‘he might have been your sweetheart, coming over at midnight and saying lovely things about happily ever after, but he’s actually royalty and while I think you’ve forgotten that, he certainly hasn’t.’

‘I thought being a Capulet was enough,’ she sighs, ‘I thought names hardly mattered. It seems that princes have to marry princesses or unless that’s a lie and he doesn’t like me well enough. I have another list though.’

‘Of course you do,’ Livia rolls her eyes.

Rosaline had written this one in a red leather journal. It had been a month back, when the new gossip magazines had come in. She never read them, usually. This time however, Prince Escalus was on the cover. He’d been in Venice. There were blurry pictures with him and a new friend, who was described as ‘gorgeous’ and ‘maybe the future queen.’

She’d been furious. She had been sitting by the canal, deciding when to march up to the palace and tell the king that his son was a cheat and so he should consider making his daughter the heir, when Montague sat down next to her. 

Rosaline was so caught up in how unfair life was, that she’d let him be instead of yelling at him. 

‘Capulet,’ he said, ‘you’re not going to jump, are you?’

‘I could push you in,’ she retorted. Escalus had forgotten her so quickly, it stung. Now Montague was here, and she didn’t have time for his smirks and snide comments. 

‘I don’t want to die at the hands of a harpy,’ he exclaimed dramatically, hand over his heart, ‘much less murdered in Capulet territory.’

She considered it. It would take a few minutes for him to swim back to the sidewalk, unless all the leather made him slower. All in all, it wasn’t worth it.

‘You don’t have to call me harpy anymore,’ she snapped.

One night, Rosaline was shouting at some guy who’d made a lewd comment about her dress right outside the library, of all places. Alright, it was late and the man seemed like he’d just walked out of jail and maybe he’d have tried something more serious, but really, she wasn’t in trouble. Benvolio Montague happened to pass by, and yelled, ‘leave the lady alone,’ and then shoved him, which was uncalled for, as far as she was concerned.

She said she didn’t need him, a Montague, to save her. House Montague had destroyed her life and although it wasn’t his fault, Benvolio was part of them, so she had to be angry at him too. 

The next day at a palace gathering that all the Montague and Capulet were attending, he’d called out loudly ‘Capulet harpy!’ She’d never felt so insulted. She was noble and his family were scoundrels and how dare he? For a while, she was known as the Capulet harpy. Escalus had laughed about it once.

‘It’s not like anyone still remembers it,’ he shrugged, completely unapologetically, ‘and it somehow suits you more than something sweet. You don’t exactly act like the delicate flower type. ’

‘My name is Rosaline,’ she rolled her eyes, ‘and you’re exasperating.’

‘You’re upset about the Prince,’ he said, softer this time.

‘How would you know?’ She turned to look at him, rather surprised. It wasn’t like anyone knew much about her and the Prince. 

‘I saw you two together,’ he answered, ‘at one of those insufferable parties we’re all obliged to attend. You’re not with him anymore?’

‘If I was, would I be talking to you?’

‘Harpy,’ he muttered.

She hit his shoulder with the rolled up magazine and then showed him the pictures. He already called her harpy, so her humiliation wouldn’t mean much to him.

‘Ah, I see. That’s why you look like you’re going to do something dangerous,’ he smirked, ‘you’re following the first Montague commandment. Murder first and think later.’

‘If you hadn’t come here, completely uninvited by the way, I would have marched up to the king by now and told him what an awful son he had and that he should think of not dying soon, because with Escalus as king, we’d all be doomed,’ she snarled. 

Montague blinked.

‘It’s good we don’t have laws for hanging anymore or execution, because you would be up for one of those. Besides intend to cause destruction, what else do you when you’re angry?’ He looked slightly scared, as if he was about to bolt.

‘I write lists,’ she tapped her journal.

He stared at her for a few seconds.

‘Well. I thought you did something else, like fight club. Why don’t we write one now? I’m sure you’ve got one on revenge and how much you hate him. How about one on why he doesn’t deserve you?’

It was a peculiar thought, because he was the prince. There wasn’t anyone better than him. Nonetheless, she complied and began writing.

Why Escalus leaving me is a good idea:

\- I’m better than him. (Well, sometimes debatable but right now I am). 

\- He isn’t that good of a prince. (Princes aren’t supposed to break up with their sweethearts in the afternoon. According to Montague, he should have given me a round the world tour in a private jet so that it didn’t affect me this much. Apparently he’s only visited half the world and I’m not sure why he’s telling me this).

\- He once stabbed a man with a fork (okay, it was in his hand but it counts).

\- He put his coffee cup on a first edition book and when I asked why, he answered, ‘it’s a book not a sapphire. Did you see the palace library?’ While the palace library is the size of a ship and somewhere I’d like to die in, it doesn’t excuse his behavior. (Montague hasn’t seen the library. That’s strange. He’s almost royalty, he really should have).

\- I would not be a good queen (Montague says that I would be, but what does he know anyway? He doesn’t even know me).

\- His clothes are way too glittery. There are always jewels sewn into them. His swim shorts are fancy. A man should wear more…denim? (Benvolio says leather. That’s because it’s all he owns).




There’s a rip in the page where Benvolio had yanked the journal from her and commented in surprisingly artistic writing. It’s more like calligraphy. ‘You’ve been looking at me harpy?’ The words are not as pretty as the writing, unfortunately.

‘Benvolio Montague?’ Livia raises an eyebrow, astonished ‘why exactly is he featured in your precious lists?’

‘He isn’t that bad,’ she answers vaguely.

Sometimes, she meets Benvolio for coffee. It’s been three Thursdays, one Wednesday and an early Monday morning. 

Livia doesn’t need to know any of that.


	2. Chapter 2

What to do (soon) :

  


\- Paint the front door (I’m thinking plum red. It’s an extraordinary color. I told Montague this and he had the most peculiar look on his face. If I could understand it, it seemed almost like respect. I’m mistaken of course). 

\- Find some way to get rid of the spiders (I was bitten by a vicious striped legged one and my arm swelled up).

\- Clean the entire house (It’s rather large though and I’m not sure I have the will to do all of it).

\- Get someone to share my pain (I felt pitiful, all alone with my swollen, painful arm. I’m sure the rest of the spiders were my only source of company. It’s strange being an adult. You feel like complaining but it’s not the mature thing to do. So I ate hazelnut praline ice cream instead. Montague is allergic to hazelnuts, although I’m not sure if that’s relevant to this list or to my life at all actually).

\- Do the laundry! (I’m down to one new summer dress. It’s lovely and long, the brightest yellow you can find. I’ll have to wear it to work on Monday if I don’t get the laundry done by tomorrow).

\- Stop fretting about Livia (especially since she seems annoyed by it. Apparently I need someone else to worry about. She insists that her life is going pretty well especially in comparison to mine).

\- Congratulate Juliet on her secret engagement to Romeo (She told me that she’d die for him).




An unforeseen interruption stopped Rosaline from doing the laundry. It was after midnight and someone was throwing rocks at the glass sliding doors. Déjà vu held her quiet for a few stunned moments. Prince Escalus had once called out for her this way. It certainly wasn’t him this time, unless he’d sent his guard to arrest her for refusing to reply to his messages. 

She grabbed a trilogy set and slid open the door.

Astonishingly, Montague stood outside. He was waving at her with his phone, grinning like something was supposed to be funny, when she couldn’t sense the humor in it. 

‘What are you doing here?’ she stared down at him.

‘I need your help,’ he shrugged, like she was supposed to be grateful he’d thought of her. She should’ve known he wasn’t normal. She should never have spoken to him at all.

‘I’m tempted to throw these books at you. They’ve been known to knock a man unconscious.’

‘Capulet, there’s no need to be violent,’ he scowled, like it was all her fault.

‘Just tell me what you need,’ she glared at him, ‘and I can go back to sleep and you can do whatever it is that you do, that keeps you up in the middle of the night, throwing stones at houses.’ 

‘You’re always so mean to me. It’s the first time I’ve done it. You should’ve given me your number.’

She’s had his number for ages. Juliet had given it to her. Apparently he was reliable in emergencies. If something was to happen, all she’d have to do is send him a message.

So Rosaline wrote a list on the messages Montague might send her:

\- Pictures of his sketches. (He does them on tablet and paper. The ones in pencil are rather cool. He’s actually rather talented, although I’m not going to tell him).

\- All the best places to eat. The curious ones that aren’t that famous and so have wonderful food. He could text me the directions. 

\- Peculiar random facts (He knows the weirdest things. Once he stops being so annoying, he can actually be entertaining).

\- A video of him brushing his hair. 

(‘Do you ever brush your hair?’ she’d asked, even though she didn't intend to. 

‘What kind of a question is that?’ he’d rolled his eyes ‘of course I do.’ 

He had to by lying. She was glad that she managed to stop herself from leaning over and giving it some semblance of structure. Surely an architect would take more care. It didn’t look bad though. Maybe that’s why he didn’t brush it). 




‘I’m never giving it you,’ she said, somewhat childishly. After all, it’s not like his a stranger and when Romeo and Juliet marry, he’ll be family.

‘One day, Capulet. I live in hope. I also need you to open the bookshop for me. I presume you have a key?’

‘I do not,’ she blinked down at him.

‘Do you know the code for the alarm?’

‘Wait, are you asking me to help you break in to a bookshop?’ she looked at him, completely incredulous and secretly, absolutely impressed. 

‘Are you coming?’

‘Give me a moment.’

That’s when Rosaline realised that all she had left to wear was the yellow dress. She could either inform the police that a Montague was trespassing on private property, which they would have no trouble believing, or she could wear the dress and they both might end up spending the rest of the night in a jail cell.

She wore it.

~~ 

Outside, Montague squints at her.

‘Um, Capulet, why exactly are you wearing yellow? You look brighter than the moon!’

‘I had no other clothes,’ she starts walking, ‘are you coming?’

‘I swear Capulet harpy, you’re going to get us arrested,’ and nonetheless, he follows. Rosaline knows the sound of his footsteps now, a moment or two behind her. It’s familiar and warm. She feels like she’s known Montague for more than almost two months, as if they’re more than acquaintances or friends, like they understand one other on some innate level. The unknown facts of each others’ lives don’t seem to really matter.

‘You could’ve knocked on the front door’ she tells Montague, when he catches up. Close, he does look like he’d woken up quite recently. His hair seems to have been sculpted by a tornado. 

‘It’s less door and more splinters,’ he shakes his head ‘I’m not in the mood for stitches.’

‘You say it like you have them regularly.’ 

‘I’m a Montague,’ he says wryly, ‘it’s a part of my legacy.’

She shivers at that. She doubts he’s had anything to do with murder and yet, her distrust for his family is deep and cold. She’s not sure she’ll ever lose it.

‘I think you’ll fit in well with us,’ he nudges her ‘you have an impressive list on all the ways you’d like to threaten Prince Escalus and now you’re on your way to becoming a criminal.’

‘How can breaking into a bookshop be a crime?’ Rosaline hasn’t been this amazed by anyone in a long while. ‘I thought the kind of trouble you were involved in would be more sinister, the ones that end up in the murder magazines.’

‘I’m not that dangerous’ he says crossly ‘one day, I might tell you about my stitches. Perhaps they weren’t about hurting others but saving them.’ 

She’s not sure she wants to know why anyone needed to be saved at all. Well, unless it’s a kitten or a fair maiden. She’s not sure how many girlfriends he’s had, but rumour (Livia and Juliet) has it, that it’s maybe almost all the girls at court. It’s none of her business anyway. She doesn’t know why she’s thought of it. 

When they get to the bookshop, Rosaline gestures to the third balcony.

‘You’ll have to climb up. There’s a sliding door and the owner leaves it slightly open. The alarm is a few steps away. Once you disable it, you can come downstairs and open the front door for me.’

‘The righteous Rosaline has formed a devious plan,’ Montague smirks, ‘although you’re leaving all the hard work to me. I could just not open the door for you at all.’

‘I could also tell you the wrong code. By the time the police get here, I’ll be long gone.’

‘I don’t understand how the Prince could’ve left you. I’d be afraid to. I might break my neck now, do wish me good luck.’

Rosaline punches him on the arm. She hopes it hurts. 

‘Harpy,’ he grumbles and after she gives him the code, he starts to climb.

She watches him. He’s so good at it, she’s somewhat happy she’s out in the middle of the night. She also realizes why he only wears leather. It’s all she’s seen him in anyway. Now that she thinks about it, he’s always been at the edge of high society, not completely accepted by it. She’s never asked why.

Once he’s at the third balcony, he turns to wave at her. Then he disappears into the shop. She holds her breath, waiting for sirens and cells and a destroyed reputation. She makes a quick mental list on her future life.

\- I’ll never be employed again. I’d have to grow my own food and my own coffee.  
\- I’ll be disinherited and disowned. I’ll have to get a new name.  
\- I’ll have to become a hermit. No one will visit after they hear of my misdeeds.  
\- My clothes will all disintegrate after a few years.  
\- I’ll never be able to buy another book. I’ll have memorized all the old ones by the time I die.  
\- I’ll just fake my death and escape. (I’ll make sure Montague comes with. He must suffer the same fate.)




‘Capulet’ someone pinches her arm and she jumps.

‘Montague!’

Rosaline almost wants to hug him. It’s not because she’s glad his safe, not at all. 

‘Did you think I was marvelous?’

‘You’re vain,’ she replies, walking past him and into the shop, and although she doesn’t want to praise him in any way possible, it’s not what she ever intended to do when it concerned him, she can’t help it this time, ‘well, maybe.’

‘Maybe the way you look in that dress, if it wasn’t the worse thing to be worn while breaking and entering.’ 

She yanks him in and closes the door.

‘Now, what book did you have to read so desperately that you were willing to risk my life for it?’

‘I’m presuming you have an alcove on architecture?’

She does, actually. She leads him to it and after a quick pat on her shoulder, he starts looking through the titles. She’s used to watching people here, the way they breathe when they page through books, as if it overfills their hearts and lights their souls, and it’s bewitchingly beautiful. 

Montague trails his fingers across the drawings, as if they’re memorizing the lines. He leans in, like his listening to the words. The turning pages sound like birds, feathers fluttering in flight. She could fall asleep here, with the sense of subtle delight that seems to have shrouded the room, but she blinks herself awake and gives him some space.  
It might be an hour or so later, Rosaline has not been counting. She’s walked through the bookstore and it feels like an entirely new place than the one she spends hours in. The shadows ricochet off the books and onto the walls, as if their tales have new meanings. She’s unpacked boxes for Monday. Then she takes coffee up to Montague, willing that he will not criticise it. 

She sets it out on the rickety table on the balcony. The night is perfect for thieving information. 

He’s not by architecture anymore, even though he's left his leather jacket there. She finds him by philosophy.

‘Do you know,’ he starts without preamble, ‘that philosophy has an influence on great architecture?’

Rosaline has never taken much of an interest in architecture, even though Verona is full of historical landmarks and its ancient buildings make the city a prominent one.

‘It’s more than drawings and numbers. There are the thoughts of the leaders that once commissioned it, that would lead to curves and carvings, that later crumbled into crevices. Have you been to a building site?’

Rosaline shakes her head, even though Montague isn’t looking at her.

‘I’ll take you there. You’ll see the energy of it. It’s in the way the artisans put their futures and all their different opinions into their work. This gives it character, it makes alive.’  
He runs his hand through his hair. It’s wild and pretty, the almost dawn glinting of it. 

‘You know I work on modern buildings, right?’

She didn’t know. How would she? There are only a few things she’s heard of him, and it’s almost all uncomplimentary. 

‘I enjoy it. It’s great to learn. I don’t love it though. I like the old buildings. The ones I’ve looked at ever since I can remember. I want to create a masterpiece.’

I’d visit, she thinks wildly, as if she’ll know him then, as if she knows enough of him now to want to know him later. 

‘That’s why I came here tonight. I had this idea and I needed to know some specifics. I knew you’d understand. I didn’t even doubt asking you.’

‘Thank you,’ she feels honored somehow, to have listened to this conversation, to help someone with these gorgeous intentions.

Montague looks at her and smiles.

It’s brighter than the yellow of her dress.

~~

Of course, he whines about the coffee. 

‘I cannot believe you, Capulet. Have you ever visited the source of your daily coffee grains? Do you not care about the journey to your miserable espresso?’

‘My Mom liked to visit cities,’ she answers a bit snappishly, because he seemed to think it was essential for everyone to be so invested in coffee, ‘so whenever we went on holiday, we rarely went beyond them. Escalus liked beaches. I’ll go one day, all right? If you think it’s that important.’

‘We’ll go,’ he shrugs, so casual, like it’s having dessert for breakfast or trespassing or throwing rocks at windows or making Rosaline’s heart beat the absolutely tiniest bit faster ‘you have to have a tour guide.’

‘Let’s make a list,’ she says, reaching for the pretty new journal which she bought about ten minutes ago.

Words Montague and Rosaline would like to adventure to:

\- Coffee (All right, I get it).

\- Cloud forests (I know of a hotel that’s super eco friendly. He doesn’t really care about being eco on holiday. You’re supposed to not care about things like conservation -as if he’s suffering here in his palazzo- and be carelessly free).

\- Pastry (I have never seen anyone more enthusiastic about sweet things. It’s also unfair because I don’t think he can be anything besides skinny. After seeing him climb, I can see that he's rather muscular too).

\- Goodness 

(‘Verona isn’t that bad, Capulet.’

‘I don’t know. It doesn’t feel happy though.’

‘That’s because you’re with the wrong people.’)

\- Wolves (Montague doesn’t want to see them, because he’s afraid. It doesn’t matter, I’ll protect him somehow. Besides, they wouldn’t even want to eat him). 

\- Yachts (We’ll have to hitch a ride with our cousins. We used to have our own yacht, you know, Mom and Dad, Livia and I. After they died, it was taken away. Uncle really is a cruel man).

\- Buildings (Montague tells me he won’t stop talking about them and I’ll have to patiently listen or just knock him out. I’ll have no trouble with the second one, because according to him, I should have a back up career doing something terrifying). 

\- Bookshops

(‘Can it always be after midnight?’

‘Oh yes, absolutely.’)




As long as it’s with you, she thinks, closing the book. 

When they wake up, the sun is welcoming. Rosaline can’t help it. They can’t go out while his hair looks like that. It’s crazy in a sort of endearing way. So, she reaches over and tries to give it some sort of style.

‘And I don’t even have your number yet,’ he grins.

She kicks his shin.

~~

Benvolio Montague picks up his books on Monday morning. 

‘There’s a crack in my sliding door,’ she tells him.

‘Good, now I can yell for you instead,’ he pauses, ‘can I come fix it?’

Rosaline hopes she nods like she doesn’t really care and not like she’s thought of asking him.


End file.
